Every Time I Get Happy The Nana-hex

It's All A Matter Of History. Brandy Is No Solace. Librium Only Lies Me Down Like A Dead Snow Queen. Yes! I Am Still The Criminal.

The Heart, This Child Of Myself That Resides In The Flesh, This Ultimate Signature Of The Me, The Start Of My Blindness And Sleep, Builds A Death Crèche.

Why Are All These Dolls Falling Out Of The Sky? Was There A Father? Or Have The Planets Cut Holes In Their Nets And Let Our Childhood Out, Or Are We The Dolls Themselves, Born But Never Fed?

What's Missing Is The Eyeballs In Each Of Us, But It Doesn't Matter Because You've Got The Bucks, The Bucks, The Bucks.

I Said, The Poets Are There I Hear Them Singing And Lying Around Their Round Table And Around Me Still.